How
perfect strangers ERIC
CLAPTON and DUANE ALLMAN
teamed up to create rock
guitar history on LAYLA

Early in 1970, Eric
Clapton's manager called
Tom Dowd at Miami's
Criteria Studios to ask
if he could produce
Clapton's next album.
Dowd, who had produced
Cream's Disraeli
Gears, was then
working on The Allman
Brothers Band's second
album, Idlewild
South. As he had
some free time at the
end of August, Dowd
agreed to set up the
dates. Later, he
mentioned the call to
Duane Allman. "Boy," he
said. "A guitar player
you're going to love is
coming here - Eric
Clapton."

Dowd
didn't know that Clapton
had be one of Duane's
heroes, that his style
had been transformed by
Clapton's work with the
Yardbirds. "Oh man, I'd
love to meet that guy,"
Duane said in a excited
voice, and he played a
series of Clapton licks
for the producer.

Not long after Dowd's
sessions with Clapton
kicked off, Duane called
down to Criteria and
told the producer that
the Allman Brothers
would be in Miami the
following week for a
concert. He asked if he
could stop by the studio
and meet Eric. The
producer said it would
be no problem and, after
hanging up the phone,
turned to Eric and said,
"There's a chap I've
been working with named
Duane Allman who's
coming to town."

The Allman Brothers Band
had made virtually no
impact in England, but
Clapton immediately
recognized the name.
"The guy that plays all
those bottleneck licks
on [Wilson Pickett's
recording of] 'Hey
Jude'?" he asked.
Clapton then played some
of Duane's riffs for
Dowd.

The orbits of Duane
Allman and Eric Clapton,
the two best white
guitarists in rock, had
been coming closer and
closer for months, and
the common axis was the
white blues group
Delaney and Bonnie.
After the breakup of
Cream, Clapton found
himself weary of rock
star adulation and
longed to immerse
himself in anonymety. He
found the chance to do
so with Delaney and
Bonnie, a married couple
from the American South
who had come to
Englandwith a band
packed with seasoned
musicians like bassist
Carl Radle, pianist
Bobby Whitlock and
drummer Jim Gordon.
Delaney had a great
grasp of the blues, and
Bonnie sang like a white
Aretha Franklin, in a
full-bodied, throaty
voice. Clapton joined
up, and when George
Harrison heard Delaney
and Bonnie, he decided
to come aboard as well.
With so many big names
in the group, it became
impossible for Clapton
to hide, and a 1969
British tour with the
two guitarists had made
stars of Delaney and
Bonnie. The next year,
Clapton recorded his
first solo album,
Eric Clapton, with
Delaney producing and
donating his band to
back the guitarist.

Not long after that, the
entire backup group
staged a mutiny over low
pay, and left Delaney
and Bonnie to join up
with Clapton and
Harrison. When the
couple went into the
studio in mid-1970 to
record From Delaney
To Bonnie, they used
an Atlantic studio band.
Delaney told producer
Jerry Wexler that he
wanted a slide player
and requested Ry Cooder,
who was unavailable.
When Wexler suggested
Duane Allman as a
substitute, Delaney was
dubious. He had been in
Europe for the better
part of two years, and
had never heard of the
guitarist. "I don't
think you'll be
disappointed," Wexler
promised.

Duane played on several
cuts on the album, and
became good friends with
Delaney. They often
drove out to Jerry
Wexler's house on Long
Island, where they would
jam until the wee hours.
"The best I ever heard
Duane play wasn't on a
record; it was with
Delaney," Wexler
remembered. "The two of
them would play acoustic
guitars at night. They'd
be outdoors on my deck,
singing Jimmie Rodgers
and Robert Johnson
songs." Duane would
spend the night, usually
going to bed only when
he was at the edge of
exhaustion. "He used to
sleep so hard," Wexler
said. "Once, he had a
gig and I couldn't get
him up. My kid played
the trumpet, and finally
he got his trumpet and
played it in Duane's
ear. And he finally woke
up."

As Delaney and Bonnie
were finishing their
album, the core of their
old backup band -
Clapton, Whitlock, Radle
and Gordon - was in
London, putting down
tracks for what became
All Things Must Pass,
George Harrison's first
solo record. Clapton
kept the band together
when that project ended,
and they began
performing in clubs. He
didn't want his name on
the marquee, so the
group went incognico,
using the moniker "Derek
And The Dominos." The
audiences quickly
recognized Eric Clapton,
but they didn't
recognize a lot of the
music. Instead of his
hits with Cream, Clapton
played blues tunes and
songs of obsessive
passion that no one had
ever heard before. These
were his love songs to
Patti Boyd Harrison,
George's wife, with whom
he was soon to embark on
a love affair that
became one of the most
complicated and
convoluted in the
history of rock.

George and Patti had
married at the height of
Beatlemania, and she was
the inspiration for his
most famous song,
"Something." Clapton and
Harrison had grown
close, especially after
Clapton moved to a place
not far from the
Harrison household. He
visited often, and began
to realize that he was
going to see Patti as
much as, if not more
than, George. "I
remember feeling a
dreadful emptiness
because I was certain I
was never going to meet
a woman quite that
beautiful for myself,"
Clapton said later. "I
knew I was in love. I
fell in love with her at
first sight, and it got
heavier and heavier."

A friend had given
Clapton a book by the
Perzian poet Nizami
called The Story Of
Layla And Majnun,
the tale of a man whose
love for a woman drives
him to madness. Her
beauty was so
intoxicating, the first
spark of connection so
intense and magical,
that Majnun had "already
given his heart to Layla
before he understood
what he was giving
away." Eric immediately
identified with the
characters. He gave
Patti a copy of the book
and wrote her a note
proclaiming his love.
Through her, he had come
to believe in the power
of love's possibility;
conversely he also
learned the pain of
love's impossibilities.
Not only was she
married, she was married
to a Beatle, which was
like royalty in Great
Britain. And not only
was she married to a
Beatle, she was married
to Eric's best friend.
Patti found herself torn
between her husband and
her growing attachment
to this quiet, intense
man who had such a
strong passion for her.

"Layla," the song and
the album, became Eric
Clapton's cry of love
for Patti Boyd Harrison
and his plea for her
love in return.

The
Allman Brothers concert
in Miami was scheduled
for August 26, 1970, a
Wednesday night. Duane
had planned on stopping
by the studio after the
show to meet Eric, and
he was hoping to be
invited to sit in on a
song. But Clapton
insisted on shutting
down the sessions and
going to the gig; he
wanted to hear the
Allman Brothers Band.
The only place for Dowd,
Clapton and the others
to sit was at the
audience barricade in
front of the stage, and
they had to crawl on all
fours to get there.
Duane was playing a
solo, and when he looked
down and saw one of his
heroes sitting a few
feet away, he froze.
Dickey Betts was puzzled
when Duane stopped
playing. Assuming that
Duane had broken a
string, he decided he'd
better cover for him and
came in on lead. When
Dickey looked down and
saw Clapton, he turned
his back, to keep
himself from freezing as
well.

The members of both
bands hung out together
after the show, and the
next afternoon, after
having been up all
night, made their way to
the studio and spent the
entire day and evening
jamming on old blues
songs. It was Eric and
Duane's way of getting
acquainted.

"It turns out they were
both afraid of each
other," said Criteria
engineer Karl
Richardson. "Duane was
obviously in awe of
Clapton, and Clapton,
who'd been listening to
Duane, was likewise in
awe. So the two of them,
when they finally met,
looked at each other and
it was like, 'Oh, I'm
scared of you' and
'Yeah, I'm scared of
you, too.' "

Dowd taped a couple of
the jam sessions - Eric,
Duane and Dickey trade
licks on a couple of
blues shuffles with
Bobby Whitlock on organ
and the Allmans' Berry
Oakley on bass, Butch
Trucks on drums and
Gregg Allman on piano.
Later, Dowd caught on
tape an intimate moment
when Eric and Duane were
alone and quietly
playing their electric
guitars on a couple of
Elmore James songs, "It
Hurts Me Too" and "Dust
My Broom." On the
former, Clapton plays a
gentle rhythm while
Duane plays bottleneck.
Duane then goes into the
famous slide riffs that
open "Dust My Broom,"
and Eric quickly falls
in behind him. The jam
falls apart when Eric
comes in on lead and an
obviously nervous Duane
begins playing rhythm to
the wrong song.

For most of the night,
Duane and Eric sat in
the studio showing each
other guitar licks and
playing old blues songs.
"It was a four-way
conversation; the
guitars were talking to
each other, and the
heads were talking to
each other," Dowd said.
"They went on like that
until 4:30 or five in
the morning."

Duane got his wish:
Clapton asked him to
play on a track or two
of his album. The
following day, Duane
returned to help cut a
song Clapton and Bobby
Whitlock had written
called "Tell The Truth."
Even on that first song,
there was an instant
kinship and immediate
interplay between Duane
and Eric. It was like
Miles Davis and John
Coltrane getting
together; they brought
out the greatness in
each other.

Eric kicks off "Tell The
Truth" with a concise
guitar riff, then the
band comes in. Duane
glides up the fretboard
with his bottleneck, and
plays fill-in notes in
the pauses between the
lyrics. Clapton also
plays slide on the song:
when he and Whitlock
join together to sing
"Can you feel it,"
Clapton chords with a
bottleneck. He also
plays slide on the
rising melody after the
second verse while Duane
plays a secondary lead
behind him.

"Tell The Truth" is the
only song on the album
without a direct
reference to Patti. But
as Clapton sings the
refrain over and over in
a voice that grows
hoarser with each cry,
it is as if he is
transforming the song
into a personal plea for
her to look inside
herself and see the love
that he is sure is
lurking there. The song
has a long fade-out
during which Duane takes
over on bottleneck and
ends up playing almost
impossibly high notes
that underscore the
urgency of Clapton and
Whitlock's vocals.

Nothing was recorded on
Saturday. Duane returned
Sunday, and Dowd was
able to catch a moment
of inspired spontaneity.
The band had kicked into
a medium-tempo blues,
and Dowd was so taken by
it that it took him a
minute to realize that
the tape recorder wasn't
rolling. He whipped
around to the engineer
and yelled, "Hit the
goddamn machine!" The
tape comes on at the
conclusion of a
bottleneck lead by
Duane, and Eric comes in
with a solo that is
relaxed, brassy and
superbly confident. He
plays two bars, then
lays back for Duane to
take over. But it's as
though Duane wants to
hear Clapton play some
more; he hits only a
couple of brief riffs.
Taking the cue, Eric
comes back in to fill
the empty spaces and
then begins singing Big
Bill Broonzy's "Key To
The Highway."

He takes another solo,
then sings the second
verse, with Duane
beginning to throw in
fill-in licks.The verse
concludes and Jim Gordon
suddenly picks up the
tempo on his drums. They
all fall in behind him
as Duane plays a
stinging bottleneck solo
with Clapton yelling
encouragement. There is
a moment during Duane's
solo when he slows the
tempo, then picks it
back up as he begins an
old Chuck Berry phrase.
The two guitarists are
so in sync that Clapton
has begun to play the
very same lick; he hits
one note of it, realizes
Duane is already there,
and stops cold. Duane
and Eric play on for
nearly 10 minutes,
pushing the song through
ebbs and flows, trading
lead licks and obviously
getting off on hearing
the other play.
Clapton's major flaw as
a guitarist was that he
could be lethargic
unless he was prodded;
during the Layla
sessions, Clapton was
pushed by Duane Allman
in a way he never had
been before, or ever
would be again.

Even though the
recording was flawed by
the abrupt fade-in, the
cut was so good that
they let it stand as is.
It must have been at
about this point that
Clapton started thinking
seriously about using
Duane Allman on the
entire record. Until
then, there hadn't been
a whole lot of tape
worth keeping. Everyone
in the band was
indulging in prodigious
amounts of hard dope and
the sessions had lacked
focus.

"We didn't have little
bits of anything; there
were no grams around,
let's put it like that,"
Bobby Whitlock said.
"Tom couldn't believe
the way we had these big
bags laying out
everywhere. Cocaine and
heroin, and Johnny
Walker." When writer
Robert Palmer went to
Miami to interview
Clapton, he walked into
the studio and found
everyone on the floor,
nodded out.

With Duane's arrival,
things began to fall
into place. They
immediately nailed "Tell
The Truth," a song they
had struggled with for
months. The band had
first recorded it in
London during George
Harrison's All Things
Must Pass sessions
and even released it as
a single. The tempo was
so frantic, however,
that the band had the
record recalled so they
could get a better
versions on tape. By the
time the Dominos reached
Miami, they were playing
"Tell The Truth" at a
much slower pace; still,
the song wasn't quite
clicking and neither was
the session in general.
Then Duane Allman showed
up. "All of a sudden the
catalyst was there,"
Dowd said. "It was just
a matter of putting
things into shape."

Clapton absolutely loved
to listen to Duane play,
and having him there
kept the pressure off;
Eric was very content to
sit back, play a lot of
rhythm guitar and let
Duane Allman run free.

"I was just going to
play on one or two, and
then as we kept on
going, it kept
developing," Duane said.
"And Eric said, 'Okay,
man, we're going to make
us a record here and
we're going to have two
guitar players instead
of one.' We worked our
butts off on it.
Everybody got behind it,
with no ego trips or
anything. It's just good
music all the way
through."

If the first two songs
hadn't cemented things
in Clapton's mind, then
the next two, recorded
the day after "Key To
The Highway," did the
trick. First, they cut
"Nobody Loves You When
You're Down and Out," an
old blues song that had
been a hit for Bessie
Smith over 50 years
earlier. Duane came up
with the arrangement -
the same one he had used
two years earlier when
the 31st Of February [drummer
Butch Trucks' pre-Allman
Brothers band, with whom
both Gregg and Duane
recorded] played the
song. Then he laid down
wonderful bottleneck
notes underneath
Clapton's vocals, which
Clapton followed with
one of his best solos on
the album.

The second song recorded
that day, "Why Does Love
Have To Be So Sad," had
been written by Clapton
and Whitlock in England.
It was the first of the
songs composed for Patti
Boyd Harrison that Duane
would be involved with,
as though he had
survived running the
gauntlet and could now
be entrusted to share in
the band's secret stash
of magnificent songs of
love and despair.

The intensity level on
the session picked up
considerably with "Why
Does Love Have To Be So
Sad." Eric plays a
two-chord riff to start
it off, Whitlock's organ
swells and rises up, and
Duane's lead guitar
comes in at the apex.
From that point on,
Duane is locked in
behind Clapton's vocals
in one of the most
emotionally charged
performances of his
career, ripping out
notes that echo every
word Eric sings. The
lyrics are like one
continuous primal
scream, all from the
depths of Clapton's love
for Patti.

Duane, playing straight
guitar for the first
time on the session,
takes the lead break.
Clapton soon jumps in
and they are both
playing at the same
time, each pounding out
notes with such
intensity that it all
sounds on the verge of
chaos - until they reign
it back in ever so
slightly. Duane and Eric
stood facing one another
as they overdubbed the
lead breaks, and
everyone in the studio
watched in awe at the
electricity flying
between them, the total
concentration and
instinctive
anticipation, as these
two masters focused in
and combined the power
of their music into one
singular statement.

Duane left Miami after
recording that song, but
the group carried on the
momentum and recorded
"Keep On Growin' " on
Tuesday, followed by "I
Looked Away" and one of
the record's
masterpieces, "Bell
Bottom Blues," on
Wednesday. Duane was
back late that night for
"Have You Ever Loved A
Woman," a slow blues
that had been
popularized by Freddie
King, a guitarist who
had exerted a profound
influence on Clapton.
The song appears on
King's Hide Away,
one of Clapton's
favorite albums, and was
tailor-made for Layla
- it speaks directly of
being in love with a
woman who is married to
your best friend.

The had been trying to
get the song on tape
ever since their arrival
in Miami. But two early
versions failed to
capture anything of the
flaming intensity that
would show up on this
recording. Only four or
five days passed between
the first and final
takes of the song and,
listening to them in
succession, you can hear
Clapton learning to sing
it as he goes from the
hesitance of the first
to the absolute despair
of the last.

"Have You Ever Loved A
Woman" begins with a
Clapton riff, and the
guitarist plays a
passionate Freddie
King-inspired lead
before he begins
singing. The tempo
shifts into a heavy beat
when Duane comes in for
a bottleneck lead -
gritty one minute,
gentle and tender the
next - that pushes the
song's emotions higher
and higher. Clapton then
takes over on his black
Stratocaster, beginning
at the crest where Duane
left off and spitting
out notes that take it
even further. It wasn't
a case of one-upsmanship
- they were bringing out
the best in each other
and daring each other to
take it up an extra
level. There are blues
solos as good as those
Duane and Eric play on
this song, but very few
that are better.

Thursday was a full day
in the studio. Recorded
was "I Am Yours," a
ballad Clapton had
written after reading
The Story Of Layla And
Majnun. He had
pulled enough of the
lyrics directly from the
book to give Nizami
co-writer's credit. It
is a simple yet
beautiful song, one of
the album's most tender
moments. The arrangement
is understated; Eric is
on the acoustic guitar,
Jim Gordon softly plays
the congas and Duane
plays a gentle
bottleneck line. The
introduction to each
verse brings an unusual
tempo shift as the
melody rises: Duane
plays ahead of the beat
for four notes, then he
and Clapton join
together for the rest of
the measure.

One of the original
concepts for the album
was to have Bobby
Whitlock and Clapton
share the vocals like [the
soul duo] Sam And
Dave, exchanging lines
and singing tight
harmonies. This approach
is taken on "Any Day."
Clapton sings the first
stanza, Whitlock sings
the second and Eric
returns for the final
one. It is a song of
faith and belief that
goes to the heart of the
album's concept - a plea
to the woman to believe
in the singer the way he
believes in her.

Clapton and Whitlock
wrote the song in
England, and Duane
decided the introduction
needed a punch. "Hey,
let's make it like a
Roman chariot race," he
said, playing a riff
that begins on the bass
notes and then slides
high up the scale.

Duane plays the opening
at the bottom end, while
Clapton uses a slide for
the high parts and for a
quick lick during the
interlude, before coming
in on vocals. Both
guitarists use
bottlenecks on the
chorus; Clapton plays
full chords, while Duane
echoes the melody
playing single notes.
Duane takes the solo,
playing the first half
with his fingers and
before putting on his
Coricidin bottle slide
at the end for a
three-note progression
that seems to scream
"Believe in me" over and
over.

The third song from that
Thursday session is
"It's Too Late," written
by r&b star Chuck Willis
and later covered by
Buddy Holly. The Sam and
Dave vocal effects are
again in full force,
with Clapton and
Whitlock playing call
and response on the
chorus. The song
subsequently shifts from
a medium tempo to a
heavy blues backbeat for
Duane's bottleneck solo.

Duane had to go back on
the road with the Allman
Brothers Band, and
nothing else was cut
until he returned six
days later. Despite the
haze of heroin and
cocaine, the band had
been recording at a
furious pace. Duane
Allman met Eric Clapton
on August 26 and went
into the studio with
Derek And The Dominos
two days later. They
then recorded 11 songs
over the next seven
days, some of them among
the greatest in rock
history. Everyone in the
studio knew they were in
the midst of something
magical.

"We knew it was
phenomenal," engineer
Karl Richardson said.
"Absolutely. You
couldn't not know
that the music flying
out of Studio B was
phenomenal. You'd have
to be deaf."

The core of the record
is the excellent
songwriting. The music
is all firmly based in
the blues, full of odd
turns and twists that
come unexpectedly yet
instantly feel right.
And the lyrics are the
work of a
Stratocaster-wielding
Don Quixote, tilting at
windmills with his
guitar and making poetry
out of the seeming
futility of his eternal
hope. The final crucial
ingredient was Duane
Allman, who always rose
above the level of the
material he had to work
with. If it was good, he
made it great; if it was
great, he made it
transcendent.

Duane returned to Miami
on September 9, and the
band cut Jimi Hendrix'
"Little Wing." Where
Hendrix' version is
contemplative, almost
wistful, Clapton and
company's was more grand
operatic tragedy.
Duane's guitar is
heavily echoed as he
sweeps up the fretboard
in a lovely explosion on
the introduction. On the
lead break, he plays the
first bar with his
fingers and then uses
his bottleneck on the
second half to create
swirling melanges of
sound with haunting
undertones. "Little
Wing"was intended as a
tribute, from two
members of the
triumvirate of that
era's guitar greats to
the third. But Jimi
Hendrix never heard the
loving version of
"Little Wing" crafted by
Eric and Duane in his
honor. Nine days after
the song was recorded,
Hendrix died of a drug
overdose.

Also recorded that day
was a song Eric had
written back in England
after he'd first read
The Story Of Layla And
Majnun. It was a
ballad called "Layla,"
described at the time by
Clapton as "just a
little ditty." Then
Duane encouraged him to
speed it up and
transform it into a
driving rock song.

"Eric and Duane were
playing the song back
for us, and all of a
sudden Duane said, 'Let
me try something,' "
recalled Allman
Brothers' drummer Butch
Trucks, who happened to
be hanging out in the
studio control room when
they were recording the
song. "And he put on his
guitar and came up with
that signature phrase
that just kind of set
that song on fire."

The seven pulsating
notes that open "Layla"
comprise what is perhaps
the most exciting
introduction in rock
and, other than Chuck
Berry's guitar intro to
"Johnny B. Goode," the
most identifiable. This
is the song where all
the emorion and desire
that drove Clapton at
the sessions exploded in
one furious blast of
impassioned lyrics and
thunderous music. The
song is propelled by an
army of overdubbed
guitars - no fewer than
seven guitar tracks are
used - and a brilliant
modulation from the
opening notes to the
verses that establishes
a dramatic tone even
before Clapton comes in
to sing the opening
lines: "What will you do
when you get lonely,
when nobody's waiting by
your side?"

Duane is mixed
underneath the vocals,
playing electrifying
lead guitar lines
nonstop while Clapton
sings angrily, chiding
Layla for hiding behind
her "foolish pride." Yet
the chorus is a plea:
"Please, come back to
me." The song rides a
delicate balance between
Clapton's anger and his
desperate need to
believe there is still
hope. Ultimately,
fittingly, Clapton
invokes Robert Johnson,
as he begs Layla not to
tell him that "all my
love's in vain." From
there, the song soars on
the energy of the
screaming slide guitars
of Eric and Duane, with
Duane breaking free to
play an other-worldly
counter-melody at the
uppermost reaches of his
fretboard.

After three minutes the
song gently touches
down, and it is Jim
Gordon, the drummer, who
sits down at the piano
and begins playing a
sweet and tender melody.
That final section of
the song was recorded a
couple of weeks after
the first part and, in
an inspired moment. was
put at the end of
"Layla" with a nifty
tape splicing job by Tom
Dowd.

"Jim Gordon wrote that.
He'd had been secretly
going back into the
studio and recording his
own album without any of
us knowing it," said
Clapton, who played only
the acoustic guitar on
the coda. "We caught him
playing it one day and
said, 'Come on, man. Let
us have that.' And we
made the two pieces into
one song."

The piano coda becomes
the personification of
the beauty and
vulnerability of the
love Clapton feels for
Layla. The one theme is
played over and over,
rising and falling in
intensity and always
colored by the gliding
bottleneck symphony
crafted by Duane. It
fades with Duane making
his bottleneck sound
like a crying bird.

The final song, "Thorn
Tree In The Garden,"
begins as a statement of
resignation, as though
Eric knows he has failed
to move the woman he
loves. The song's
scenario has him meeting
someone else but
apologizing to her
because he can't forget
the moments he had with
Layla. Everyone sat in a
circle in the studio
with acoustic
instruments to record
the song, and Bobby
Whitlock's aching vocals
seem on the verge of
cracking from sadness.
Eric fingerpicks the
rhythm guitar and Duane
plays chiming notes and
soft, lovely slide on
the chorus. "Maybe
someday soon," Whitlock
concludes, "some way."
Somehow, the hope
remains. In spite of
everything, he still
believes.

Mixing the album proved
to be a difficult task.
Often, three or more
guitars were going at
once, and Dowd had to
find the right balance
between them. The
album's huge guitar
sound led most people to
assume that Duane and
Eric were playing
through powerful
Marshall and Fender
amplifiers. In truth,
however, both guitarists
used tiny amps,
primarily two puny
Fender Champs that were
routinely used for
sessions at Criteria.

"We closed the top of
the piano and set the
amps up on it so that
the Champs were at ear
level," said Ron Albert,
who owned the amps with
his brother, Howie,
another Criteria
engineer. "It was the
only way that Eric and
Duane could hear
themselves. You'd turn
them up to 10, stick a
microphone on them and
go."

Dowd faced a tight
deadline of two days to
do the job - not much
time to mix enough music
to fill up two albums.
The final night was even
more rushed because
Clapton was about to
return to England. "Eric
had like the last flight
out," said Karl
Richardson. "Tommy was
in there mixing with
him, and I was sitting
in another room putting
the album together. It
was in the middle of
night, around five in
the morning, and Eric
had a six o'clock
flight."

They also faced
technical problems. One
night a visitor in the
control room spilled
coffee on the master
tapes. "I remember Tommy
Dowd and I standing at
the tape machine with
what they call
Chem-Wipes, which are
very absorbent,
non-chemical-treated
tissue," said Karl. "And
we passed the master
tape back and forth
through the reels to get
all the coffee out."

In addition, a quirky
tape player caused most
of the songs to turn out
either faster or slower
than their actual tempo.
"Layla," for example,
came out so fast that it
was nearly a half-step
sharp, and many thought
the variations were
deliberate. "There's no
reason for it except the
mix-down machine was an
old Ampex 351," Karl
said. "At the beginning
of the reel, you'd
record a little slow and
at the end you'd record
a little quickly."

When Tom Dowd finally
walked out of the studio
after they had finished
the album, he shook his
head and said to
himself, "That's the
best goddamned record
I've made in 10 years."
To his dismay, Layla
was hardly noticed upon
its release in December
of 1970.

"The pity of it was that
it took a year for the
thing to hit," Dowd
said. "When it didn't
hit in the first six
months, I just thought,
'The public is just a
bunch of assholes. They
don't know what the hell
is good or bad anymore.'
Then six months later,
it was like the national
anthem."